


Blue Ribbon Winner

by Tkeyla



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Drunk Steve, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tkeyla/pseuds/Tkeyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve overindulges. Danny to the rescue!</p>
<p>(Not slash - just bromance at its best.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Ribbon Winner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluedelft](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bluedelft).



> Written in honor of the most fabulous bluedelft who recently celebrated her birthday. I'm a little late and I'm sorry.
> 
> Happy birthday, BB!!

“Are you still going to compete in your manly-man feats of manliness this weekend?” Danny asked. He was behind his desk, Steve lounging on his couch. Mostly they were shooting the breeze, waiting for it to be late enough for them to leave for the weekend without raising any eyebrows. Not that anyone kept track, exactly. But too many early exits made loose tongues wag.  
  
“If by that you mean the Hawaiian Highland Games, then yes, I’m still competing,” Steve confirmed. He was frowning at Danny’s description but wasn’t overly surprised. Danny had razzed him about it since he’d accidentally found out Steve was planning to compete.  
  
“Throwing telephone poles and ears of corn,” Danny said. “Sounds like a great time.”  
  
“You mean the tossing of the caber and the sheaf toss,” Steve corrected.  
  
“All in your skirt,” Danny continued.  
  
“Kilt, Danno. It’s a kilt,” Steve said firmly.  
  
“Right. A kilt. Made of wool which you are planning to wear in Hawaii. In July. You have fun with that,” Danny said, clearly doubting Steve’s ability to think clearly.  
  
“Wool is a year round fiber,” Steve informed him. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“A year-round fiber. Why does that sound like something you heard on a TV commercial?”  
  
“Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me about my weekend plans?” Steve asked, trying to sound stern.  
  
“Nope,” Danny said smugly. “And you are in my office.”  
  
“So I am,” Steve had to admit.  
  
“Anyway, you told me McGarrett is an Irish name, not Scottish. Are you going as a poser?” Danny asked with a laugh.  
  
“No I am not. Doris was a Ferguson before she was a McGarrett. I wear the Ferguson tartan,” Steve said.  
  
“Can you be sure her maiden name was Ferguson?” Danny asked, trying hard not to laugh again.  
  
“Shut up and go home,” Steve said, standing and stretching.  
  
“Fine. Call me tomorrow so I’ll know you didn’t end up dropping the telephone pole on your head,” Danny said, accepting his car keys from Steve.  
  
“It’s a caber, Danny. A caber.”  
  
“Whatever. Just don’t drop it on your head,” Danny said, going down the main steps with Steve after they had locked up for the weekend.  
  
~o0o~  
  
“Williams,” Danny answered automatically when he’d answered his phone. He squinted again at his clock. _Dear Lord._ It was 2:30 a.m. “What’s wrong?” Because if something wasn’t very wrong, someone would be very sorry very soon.  
  
“I’m sorry to wake you, Detective,” a vaguely familiar voice said in response. “This is Andrew from the Scottish Pub.”  
  
“Okay,” Danny said, trying for something more articulate. But nothing came to mind.  
  
Andrew was fine with his response. “Commander McGarrett is here. He’s in no condition to drive. And he’s insisting he’s not finished celebrating when we try to get him into a taxi,” Andrew explained, sounding apologetic. Which seemed backwards to Danny. But he couldn’t figure it out right now. He had to go rescue Steve from himself and possibly an assault charge.  
  
“Thanks for calling me,” Danny said, already up and searching for his jeans. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”  
  
“Thank you,” Andrew said. “We have his truck keys, just in case.”  
  
“Good,” Danny said. “I shouldn’t be long.”  
  
“Right,” Andrew agreed, hanging up.  
  
Danny decided that using his flashing lights could prevent a crime and only felt a little guilty for flipping them on. There was almost no traffic this late…or early. Most reasonable people were in bed, where they belonged.  
  
It didn’t take very long for him to arrive at the Pub. He and Steve ate there occasionally, finding the atmosphere friendly and the food plentiful. It was not too far from the beach and was in a neighborhood that had beach bars and hamburger joints all up and down the street. Many of them were dark, just like the pub, but there were a few that were still lively.  
  
Steve’s truck seemed to be the only vehicle left in the parking lot although Danny spotted what he thought was Andrew’s car behind the building.  
  
He had to knock on the door, as it was locked, all the lights off except the ones in the far back. Andrew peered through the dark door before unlocking and opening it.  
  
“Hi,” Danny said entering the Pub proper when Andrew had backed up. “He okay?”  
  
“I think so?” Andrew said, going toward the back where the bar was located.  
  
“You think so?” Danny repeated.  
  
“He went outside a few minutes ago. Said he needed to water the trees. I told him he could do that in the men’s room but he didn’t think that was ‘manly enough’,” Andrew said, using air quotes to emphasize his point.  
  
“Great,” Danny said. “I didn’t see him staggering down the road. So he must still be out back.”  
  
“I saw him out the window in my office. I was just going to check on him when you knocked,” Andrew explained.  
  
“All right,” Danny said, following Andrew to the back door. “Do I owe you for any of his drinks?”  
  
“No,” Andrew assured him. “He ran a tab. He may be surprised as how much it comes to.”  
  
Danny shrugged at that. “Serves him right. Did he win at the Games?”  
  
“He did,” Andrew said, going behind the bar. “Here’s his trophy for high score. And his truck keys.”  
  
“What’d he win in?” Danny asked, looking at the gold man in a kilt flared out at his knees.  
  
“He didn’t say,” Andrew said. “The sheaf toss maybe? That’s what the trophy looks like.”  
  
“Hay bales,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Thank you again for calling me.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Andrew said, unlocking and opening the back door. “You need a hand?”  
  
“No. He generally listens to me,” Danny assured him, waiting as Andrew locked the door before going toward the small stand of trees between the pub and the bar next door. It was still open but was on the downward side of the night.  
  
It wasn’t hard for him to find Steve, laying under the trees snoring softly.  
  
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Danny said, squatting next to him. “Wake up so we can get you home.”  
  
“Danno?” Steve said, his eyelashes fluttering up. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”  
  
“This isn’t your yard. You’re at the pub. Andrew called me to come and get you,” Danny said.  
  
“The pub?” Steve repeated, sitting up. That was a mistake. He grabbed his head to try and stop it from spinning quite so sickeningly.  
  
“Yes, bonehead, the pub. You’re at least four sheets to the wind,” Danny said, standing to reach down at hand. “Come on.”  
  
“It’s three sheets to the wind,” Steve said, squinting up at him.  
  
“Ordinarily but you’re way drunker than that,” Danny said, helping him stand, somewhat unsteadily. Steve loped an arm over Danny’s shoulder, both to steady the ground and to keep him upright.  
  
“I maybe had three or two or four many too beers,” Steve said.  
  
“I noticed. Celebrating your manly conquests, according to Andrew,” Danny said, steering Steve away from the truck. “No, no. Camaro’s over here.”  
  
“Oh,” Steve said, trying to focus on it. “Didya’ pay Andrew?”  
  
“You did. You ran a tab,” Danny said, helping him into the Camaro. “He said you’ll be surprised when you see the amount.”  
  
“Everybody needs to celebrate,” Steve said. It sounded suspiciously like something he’d said way too many times already tonight.  
  
“Apparently,” Danny said, buckling Steve’s seatbelt when he showed no inclination to do it. “Did you have fun at your manly contest?”  
  
“I think so?” Steve said. “I may be able to tell you tomorrow.”  
  
“All right,” Danny laughed. “I’ll Google the games in the morning and see how you did.”  
  
“I won a trophy. I think. Maybe,” Steve said, turning to frown at Danny as though he would know for sure but just wasn’t saying.  
  
“You did,” Danny agreed, reaching into the backseat for it. “For throwing hay bales.”  
  
“Uhn,” Steve grunted, leaning his head against the headrest and closing his eyes.  
  
“Please let me know if you’re about to puke. I’ll pull over,” Danny said, glancing between Steve and the road.  
  
“I’m not going to puke. Manly men don’t puke,” Steve claimed.  
  
“You do. I’ve been the unfortunate witness of it,” Danny reminded him.  
  
“Uhm,” Steve responded, otherwise ignoring him.  
  
“Why did you go outside to pee? Why didn’t you go into the men’s room like a regular person? Not that I’m in anyway implying I think you are anywhere even close to ‘regular’,” Danny said.  
  
“I went outside to pee?” Steve asked, frowning over at him.  
  
“Never mind,” Danny said with a laugh, pulling into Steve’s driveway.  
  
“Thank you, by the way,” Steve said, fighting with his seatbelt to get it open. Danny finally batted away his hand, undoing it himself.  
  
“You know I’ll come get you any time from anywhere. At least it was the Scottish Pub this time and not North Korea,” Danny pointed out, rounding the car.  
  
“True that,” Steve agreed, leaning on Danny as they stumbled up to the house.  
  
Danny used his key to unlock and open the door, punching in the alarm code. “Come on, manly man of manly feats. Let’s get you upstairs into bed.”  
  
“That’s probably for the best,” Steve had to agree, letting Danny help him up the stairs and directly into Steve’s bedroom. Steve slumped onto his bed, laying down as soon as Danny released him.  
  
“Get out of your kilt. You can’t sleep in it,” Danny instructed, kneeling down to pull off Steve’s boots.  
  
“Warriors did. That’s why there’s so much material. Blankets,” Steve slurred, his eyes half way closed.  
  
“You aren’t a warrior tonight. And this isn’t Scotland. You’ll roast if you try to sleep in it,” Danny said. He sat next to Steve, looking at the buckles and buttons and ties. “How do you get this off?”  
  
“Mostly decorative,” Steve said, waving at where it opened. “Unbuckle it.”  
  
“Okay,” Danny agreed, opening the four tiny buckles. “All right. Stand up so I can get it off.”  
  
“Not wearing briefs,” Steve mumbled.  
  
“So it’s true about what you don’t wear under your kilts,” Danny laughed, hauling him up.  
  
“Yep,” Steve agreed, watching his kilt slide down his legs. When it was pooled around his feet, he could only stare down at himself.  
  
“Well,” Danny said with a laugh, also staring at Steve’s penis. “I don’t know where all you’ve been, but I see you won first prize.”  
  
“What the hell?” Steve said, sitting on the bed to study the blue bow decorating his privates.  
  
“I take it that’s not part of the games,” Danny laughed, giving Steve a pair of shorts from his dresser.  
  
“You know it’s not,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I have no idea.” He carefully untied the ribbon, frowning out it like that would provide insight into how it come to be wrapped around that particular part of his anatomy.  
  
“It’s a mystery,” Danny had to agree, still laughing. “Put on your shorts and take off your shirt.”  
  
“Huh?” Steve said, squinting up at him. “What?”  
  
“Put on your shorts and take off your shirt,” Danny repeated, reaching down to unbutton his white cotton shirt. “You need to sleep off your celebration.”  
  
“Uhn,” Steve grunted, swatting away Danny’s hands and undoing his own buttons. “I hate myself.”  
  
“I know the feeling. You’ll live. Put on your shorts. I’ll get you some Advil.”  
  
“’Kay,” Steve agreed, struggling out of his shirt and pulling on the shorts. He had managed to crawl into his bed when Danny returned with a glass and the two tablets. He swallowed them before returning to stare at the ribbon. “How do you think…?”  
  
“If I had to guess, I’d say this was recently holding a ponytail in place. It looks like one of… like a hair bow. I’m guessing it’s a gift from an admirer, of you and your…assets,” Danny said, still laughing at Steve’s befuddled expression.  
  
“My assets,” Steve repeated, shaking his head. “I am never drinking again.”  
  
“Okay,” Danny said, taking the mystery ribbon from him and putting it in the trashcan. “Go to sleep, manly man. I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”  
  
“Thank you,” Steve mumbled, already asleep before Danny had the light out and the door closed.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I guess this would be considered a songfic(?). My sister is a huge fan of Mike Cross, a very talented local artist who wrote a song called _The Scotsman_. It's a great song and I've wanted to write a story from it for a while. Bluedelft's birthday gave me the perfect reason to finally write it.
> 
> You can hear the song on youtube: [The Scotsman](http://youtu.be/Dl96vNqNjlg). It's not Mike Cross singing it but it's a good version of it.


End file.
